...for a different kind of girl

silent surburban girl releasing her voice, not yet knowing what all she wants to say about her life and the things that make it spin. do you have to be 18 to be here? you'll know when i know.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

it's curtains for you, cable company. lacy, gently wafting curtains

I'm writing this post under the gun this morning because, if things go as promised, a representative from a Big Name Satellite Company will be at my house between the hours of 8 a.m. and 12 p.m., today to outfit my house as a multimedia hot zone. Goodbye, lame cable company that has never met my needs, hello bigger, stronger, faster Internet service (who knew porn could be less choppy?)(I kid, oh, how I kid!), crystal clear land line telephone service with features I never use aside from caller ID (which I believe to be the greatest invention just after the DVR), and come to mama satellite, glorious satellite.

To be honest, I have no idea if what I'm getting will be better than what I have, because really, is anything ever? All I know is the same core channels I need to survive or bust along on a Weekend Twitter Movie Date (not trademarked, but totally should be) with Backpacking Dad remain intact (dude, The Princess Bride is on at 11 a.m. Central Saturday on WE...)(DAMMIT! Why don't I get Encore!? RoboCop is on at 11:40 p.m.!)

Anyway, we're pretty excited around these parts, and of course, I say that knowing it now lets those few of you who haven't yet figured how stunningly lame I am in on the little secret. You should see how giddy I get watching paint dry, water freeze, and Jell-O gel. "Breath, sweetie!" you'd probably say, whipping a paper bag out of your back pocket in the event I started to hyperventilate. I should totally start watching NASCAR, what with the hours and hours of left turns to lull me into bliss. After you'd gotten me calmed down, you might nudge the person next to you and ask, "Is this really the post she's giving us today? Something about how she's going to have to figure out where all her favorite channels are now? Really?"

Um...yeah. Really. Except wait for it! There's some pay-off coming!

Actually, I plan to confess something to you first. I've spent the past two nights glued to my couch in a feeble attempt to burn off the hours of television programming I have stored on our DVR right now. Remember when I mentioned porn up there a bit ago? Well, my porn is Dirty Jobs, and I've got about 12 hours of Mike Rowe getting nasty and regaling me with double entendre that he whispers in my ear, and believe me, that's the move that really works on me. Last night, thanks to Mike, I dreamt about castrating sheep, which OMG! Reason 2,304 1/2 why I'm glad I live in the suburbs!

I also dreamt about Mike allowing me to give him a sponge bath and remark about his pectorals. I actually have this dream three or four times a week, only sometimes when I glance up from my dream man's hairy torso, I'm staring at FTN, and we just nod in a way that says, "Let's just keep this our little secret, k?"

As you might imagine, watching hours of television doesn't really free you to go out and experience life in a way that allows you to gather post inspiration. Sure, I could tell you about the old man who followed me around the bookstore Monday saying the word "bunny" over and over, but instead, I chose to watch My Fake Baby, which I recorded off of BBC America a few weeks ago (also? OMG!), and when I've not been watching TV, I've been prepping my house for my special guest start.

(here's where you can pay attention because I'm about to unleash the pay-off of this post!)

Why do I have to prep my house for the satellite and Internet installation tech? Well, if you've not been around these parts since the dawn of time, perhaps you don't know that I have a little problem when it comes to repairmen visits, and, even though the word "panties" makes me cringe when I say it, I apparently like to type it. A lot. I've written a post (or two!) that weaves these two subjects together magically, and, in the interest of trying to crank out this week's episode of 90210 (welcome back again, Brenda) yet this morning, I've decided to share one of them with you. Even reruns of Dirty Jobs do it for me, so I hope these do it for you.

P.S.I realize my rambling before the pay-off makes this a huge post. I suggest you approach it like an epic miniseries, like The Thorn Birds, which I watched every damn time it was on TV ("And there's one thing you've forgotten about your precious roses, Ralph, they've got nasty, hooky thorns!" sigh...). If you've read these when they were originally posted, I dare you to comment again. Especially you, Numby, or I'll be forced to write something about your amazing pecs AND quads. For you, sir, I went through this post and started each sentence with an uppercase letter (how I miss you, lowercase writing days...)

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he shouldn't see london, he shouldn't see france
In the event a repairman is scheduled to come to your home (sometime between 1 and 4 p.m. never before, more often than not later), let me dispense a bit of advice to you to make the man's task at your home more productive.

Always pick up your panties from your bedroom floor.

Be aware that a repairman may or may not wish to go into your bedroom to check the screens in your window. you won't be expecting it, of course. The windows in question are in the living room. His request to go into your bedroom will be met silently at first, for about a second, as you wonder why, and while you're thinking what the right answer is, you'll be conducting a mental inventory of your bedroom.

And it will hit you. The panties. Tossed on the floor like a pink and purple polka dot amoeba.
Maybe they're not alone. Maybe there are other pairs with them. The pink ones. The pale orange ones. The kicky buttery yellow pair. A couple of black pairs from when you felt "angsty." You're not lazy. You're just trying to prove a point, and that point is yours aren't the only arms that can carry clothes down to the laundry room. But, as the pile has grown, apparently so has your failed experiment, so let me remind you - your bedroom floor is not a laundry hamper. It is not a place where five pairs of panties should just get carelessly tossed aside until someone (but likely you) feels like picking them up and hauling them to the washing machine.

If possible, always try to get upstairs before the repairman. Trip him on the stairs, yank at his back pocket. Compliment his "Texas...where everything is bigger" sweatshirt and how it carries the musky scent of sweaty man and Marlboro Lights like a delightful testosterone bouquet. Whatever you must do, do it. You lead the calvary. There are no exceptions to this.

Do not chuckle if he makes a little joke about the state of your bedroom and said laundry. it likely won't be a funny joke, and honestly there's little need to encourage him away from the task at hand.

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the spider to the fly; "'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you may spy. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, and I have many curious things to show when you are there," is not a clever retort to his funny remarks. It will only make him glance your way with a look that silently affirms your despair at his unexpected boudoir visit. Glance at the bureau mirror and smirk at yourself for thinking to use "boudoir," maybe give yourself a little thumbs up move, but do not congratulate yourself on using a poem as your comeback. Let me repeat that. Do not quote old poetry.

Be grateful the dolphin had swam away earlier that day. When he's not looking, pat yourself on the back for at least having the smarts to put away the grown up toys. Then work diligently at trying to get the panties kicked under a pile of less obvious work clothes and sensible black slacks (slacks? do people even use that word anymore?!). Curse the fact that you're wearing Eastland slip-ons and the clunky soles make this task a virtual impossibility. While he leans out the window to yell at his buddy waiting outside, do not stop to think "Is he winking at him? Is that the universal sign for 'panties on the floor! yahoo!'" No. While he's distracted, reach down, silently and swiftly, and lift less obvious pieces of clothing up, grab what you can that you wish to hide and jam, jam, jam them out of sight. Smile nonchalantly, while halfway in an upright position and with a pair of flowery panties in your right hand, when the repairman turns around to tell you the bedroom windows are just fine. You knew they were, of course, but by now, you're close to forgetting why you have this man in your home in the first place. Until he asks to return to your living room. where he (and no panties - at least for a very long time. Sigh. Make a mental note to check on weekend childcare possibilities) were meant to be.

I share this advice with you as a girl in the know. Heed my warnings now lest you fall victim to the cable repair man later...

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The satellite company just called! Woo hoo! If you're interested in the spin-off post I wrote a week after the above, please visit me here. Same panties. Different repairman!

Labels:

44 Comments:

Blogger The Stiletto Mom said...

First? Dare I hope?

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 9:14:00 AM  
Blogger The Stiletto Mom said...

OH hell yes! Ok, now off to read. :)

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 9:14:00 AM  
Blogger steenky bee said...

WTF, Stiletto Mom? Eleven minutes ago. Eleven this was posted! How am I third? Damn it.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 9:24:00 AM  
Blogger steenky bee said...

Ah yes, Mike Rowe. His voice is dreamy and melty and ohhh so good. Wait, no, that's the pizza I ate for dinner last night. No, Mike Rowe is just manly, you know? I would listen to any book on tape that he recorded. What if he recorded the bible on tape? I would hover near Numbers so I could listen to all the "begats". Oh, dear, I'm starting to glisten and get all hot.

And just so we're clear, you really are having a cable guy come to install cable today right? A lot of porn flicks have this exact same premise. I'm not judging, I'm just sayin.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 9:29:00 AM  
Blogger The Stiletto Mom said...

Apparently Steenky and I have the floor this morning. I just manned up and gave in to google reader today which why I'm here so bright and early. I am a technology holdout, what can I say.

First of all...everything in Texas IS BIGGER. Including my ass.

Secondy, My Fake Baby? Dude. I spent hours watching that on You Tube and they were on The Today show last month. CREEEEEPY.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 9:40:00 AM  
Blogger Cocotte said...

The dolphin swam away earlier .....you killed me w/that one!

But seriously, there is nothing worse than the repair guy having to go to your basement to check the fusebox and you've got your french maid outfit drying on the foldable drying rack. I just hate when that happens.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 9:45:00 AM  
Blogger Desmond Jones said...

OK, so. . . AGAIN with the panties and the repairman? I'm thinkin' this all ain't quite so 'accidental' as you want us to believe. . .

And listen, I'm gonna start feelin' left out, hearin' about all your fantasies about this-or-that male-fellow-blogger of yours. . .

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 10:01:00 AM  
Blogger Heather said...

A life lesson for us all.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 10:11:00 AM  
Blogger for a different kind of girl said...

Crap! I totally forgot I had Robot Chicken's second Star Wars parody on my DVR, thus making my word verification - 'eigod' - pretty appropriate.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 10:21:00 AM  
Blogger blissfully caffeinated said...

I had a comment all ready to go from the top third of this post, but by the time I got to the repairman it had wafted out of my head like smoke on the breeze. (Getting my poetic phrases all geared up for any repairman that might show up). Yes, panties on the floor? I have done that. I just shuffled my foot along the floor trying to scoot everything under the bed before it was spotted. Which I'm sure didn't work.

Oh, I remembered my comment from earlier: The three greatest inventions of the 20th century are Caller ID, TIVO and the flat iron. I dare anyone to contradict me.

I'll go now, this comment is excessively long. :)

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 10:26:00 AM  
Anonymous TwoBusy said...

So, to be clear... dreams of castrating sheep are unusual for you? Just want to make sure we're all on the same page about that.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 10:27:00 AM  
Blogger FTN said...

I think I have at least six unwatched episodes of Dirty Jobs on my DVR, and I'm sure I'll never get to watch all of them. I also have a bunch of Robot Chickens messing with the schedule. But we had to cancel some of them so my wife could check out some more Obesi-TV the other night. 900 Pound Mom was on, followed by Half-Ton Dad, and I thought Autumn was going to orgasm just from seeing the titles.

I mean, she REALLY digs that kind of fine programming.

Having said all of that, I'm awaiting my sponge bath. And I am UBER impressed that you actually went through the work of capitalization. For ME. I've got a bit of an afterschool-special glow going on right now, just thinking about it.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 11:16:00 AM  
Blogger kaila said...

You had me at "The Princess Bride" but then you had go throw Mike Rowe in there. Yummy. Can I add one more thing to hide when the repairman is there - not speaking personally - this is more geared toward my brother.....Hide or remove the video camera that is aimed at your bed.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 11:23:00 AM  
Blogger Kyddryn said...

Grrrowww...Mike Rowe...whew...

Did you see the mannequin episode? Dear gods above....

Shade and Sweetwater,
K (who read the rest of the post, but can't remember much of it because...Mike Rowe...)

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 11:33:00 AM  
OpenID waltzinexile said...

Sweet Jesus did you stop taking the Ritalin again? Let's go over this one more time, Red: Self-medicating...does. not. work.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 11:45:00 AM  
Blogger Always Home and Uncool said...

Good luck on your hook up, you devil.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 11:49:00 AM  
Blogger Chris Wood said...

This advice has got me thinking, ooo, all kinds of things. Let's just say I had no idea the lives of repairmen could include such complicated supterfuge.

Do many guys from cable companies get poetry quoted at them?

DVR? We in the UK are still delighted with our Betamax machines, thank you very much.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 12:48:00 PM  
Blogger Prefers Her Fantasy Life said...

I felt sorry for the boring life of a gas reader so I put my Dennis Rodman doll on top of the meter. It's in better shape than my panties.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 1:01:00 PM  
Blogger for a different kind of girl said...

The time is now 1:08 p.m., and I wait, oh, how I still wait...

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 1:09:00 PM  
Blogger Meg said...

Come to Mama, Mike Rowe. I love that man and I will arm-wrestly you for him and cheat if necessary.

I like to leave the panties out for the repairman. makes things interesting for him.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 1:10:00 PM  
Blogger DCD said...

MMM, Mike Rowe and The Princess Bride. Oh, Cary Elwes - what happened to you?? *sigh*

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Now I'm going to have to dig up my copy of that movie.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 2:21:00 PM  
Blogger That girl from Shallotte said...

Is he there yet? Now I'm all anxious like I get when I'm waiting around for a repairman. But, if you rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 3:12:00 PM  
Blogger Ali said...

capital letters are SO 2005.
:)

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 3:12:00 PM  
Blogger Eternal Sunshine said...

Love the Princess Bride. *Sigh* Still love the panties/Repairman story

And if you do not tell us more about "the old man who followed [you] around the bookstore Monday saying the word "bunny" over and over" I will die.

And it will be all your fault. You don't want that do you???

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 3:40:00 PM  
Blogger Kate said...

So I'm not the only one to have random maintenance type men see my panties... whew. Good to know.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 4:38:00 PM  
Blogger Ms Picket To You said...

but can you tell me how the internets actually work?

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 5:24:00 PM  
Blogger motherbumper said...

I now understand why I feel angsty. What colour do you recommend to solve this problem?

More delivery men have seen my rack since the birth of my kid than in my entire dating career - and I was pretty easy.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 5:34:00 PM  
Blogger The Savage said...

Lust!

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 5:37:00 PM  
Blogger Swirl Girl said...

THis reminds me that my cleaning lady is coming tomorrow and I have to pre-clean the toilets so she doesn't think we're gross around here.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 6:28:00 PM  
Blogger Shonda Little said...

If you would just stop wearing panties as I've advised you at least a million times, you wouldn't have to worry about this type of shit. Of course, that comes with the risk of the random maintenance man seeing your vag, but only if your pants magically disappear.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 8:05:00 PM  
Blogger Zip n Tizzy said...

And isn't it amazing how the one day when the rooms are all picked up, nobody stops by to notice. I get this, I recognize the foot sweep.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 11:00:00 PM  
Blogger Backpacking Dad said...

I think "The Princess Bride" might be the most perfect Weekend Twitter Movie Date ever. There may be others that are perfect for it, but I can't think of them.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008 11:00:00 PM  
Blogger Bogart in P Towne said...

Castrating animals is not as fun as it seems like it would be...

Claire's boss came over to play cards a couple nights ago. It was the day I decided it would be nice to do her laundry...Problem was, much of it is hang dry and I, in all my man wisdom, hung up some of her underwear in my office. When the boss and 4 other coworkers came over, they walked smack dab into my makeshift panty rack.

Yes, I am a rockstar.

Thursday, November 20, 2008 7:16:00 AM  
Blogger MilesPerHour said...

My first visit to your blog. I read a nuimber of your posts and think they're great!

One thing about satellite though, sometimes rain, clouds and/or tree branches will get in the way of reception and the only way to get it back is to hang your panties on the dish! j/k

Thursday, November 20, 2008 8:21:00 AM  
Anonymous Bee (the one that muses) said...

I hand wash my undies in the bathroom sink. I let them dry in said bathroom. Now, the rest is not for male viewers so please don't read this.

I have my nice silky undies, nice cottons undies and then I have those big granny panties that I reserve for when I feel a little, how do you say, BLOATED during THOSE days of the month, lady's days as my hubs calls them, so imagine my chagrin when the guy installing the water line to our fridge asked to use our bathroom...

I didn't mind him witnessing the smaller sexy pairs but the huge ones? I wonder if he thinks I turn into Fiona ogre at night. ::sigh::

Thursday, November 20, 2008 8:26:00 AM  
Anonymous Bee (again) said...

P.S.
I love The Princess Bride!!!

Thursday, November 20, 2008 8:27:00 AM  
Blogger ChurchPunkMom said...

oh my gosh! i'm totally going to have to get in on the twitter movie date this weekend.. LOVE Princess Bride!!!

LOVE Mike Rowe.. and Bear Grylls, but that's another post, isn't it.

and I think at least half of my panty-robe (think wardrobe.. i'm inventing words.. i do that.. a lot) is black.. I think I even have black on today! (cause i know you totally wanted to know that..)

Thursday, November 20, 2008 9:23:00 AM  
Blogger Heather said...

I am frightened by what the content of my DVR will be by the time we get back on the 30th. It's already filled to the brim as I have been too sick and too busy getting things ready before we leave to have even a modicum of hope that I might make a dent in the plethora of shows we've enthusiastically recorded these past weeks. Help me.

Thursday, November 20, 2008 10:13:00 AM  
Blogger MereCat said...

You are. such. a. nut. I love reading your posts. If you are this much fun in print, I can't imagine how much fun you actually are in real life! And I wish I could get in on your twitter movie dates, but alas, I have to watch football and act like I'm marginally interested. Maybe when football's over I'll join in.

Thursday, November 20, 2008 1:37:00 PM  
Blogger Kimberly A. Suta said...

Great sense of humor!
I would love for your blog to be a part of blog4reel.com – the world’s first blog-to-film competition. It’s free! All u do is link this blog to blog4reel.com for a chance to win 2,000!

– Kimberly (co-creator)

Thursday, November 20, 2008 2:44:00 PM  
Blogger steenky bee said...

I'm assuming since you've not posted that you and the cable guy have made hot passionate "hook ups" and run off to live in his van. There is absolutely no other explanation.

Thursday, November 20, 2008 3:12:00 PM  
Blogger Sailor said...

No news.. so the installer has been overcome by the sight of panties, and scooped you (and assorted panties) off to his van and made away with you?

Or, the installation didn't go smoothly, and you're not online?!?

THAT would really bite.

Thursday, November 20, 2008 11:28:00 PM  
Blogger for a different kind of girl said...

Oh, I have a few things to say about the satellite installation process. I'll share soon. Consider this my attempt to build up interest that, by the time I post something about it, will have waned considerably to the point where you wonder why I'm writing about it.

In the meantime, I'll be back. I was supposed to be in bed hours ago!

Friday, November 21, 2008 12:20:00 AM  
Blogger justlori2day said...

I hate Cable and Satellite repair guys. Maybe panties on the floor would get them here on time and without attitude.

After a week of no cable, we finally get it back only to lose our internet for 2 days! UGH!

Friday, November 21, 2008 10:12:00 PM  

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